


i had been lost to you, sunlight

by lonesomeramen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Dates, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonesomeramen/pseuds/lonesomeramen
Summary: Connor doesn't expect anything special to happen on his first Valentine's Day. Hank intends to prove him wrong.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130
Collections: Hankcon and Other Ships Valentines Exchange





	i had been lost to you, sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maxkiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxkiki/gifts).



> This is my long overdue Valentine's Day exchange fic for [Maxkiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxkiki). I'm _so_ sorry for the delay. This year has been incredibly tough so far.  
> I hope you still like this lil fic. Enjoy. <3
> 
> [thiriumcupcakes](https://twitter.com/thiriumcupcakes) thank you so much for being a hell of a beta reader. :') <3

The soft glow of the street lamps illuminates the snowdrifts along the road as Hank’s car pushes through the evening traffic. Connor stretches out in the passenger seat, an unnecessary habit he has grown fond of. The scenery beyond the window is nothing but peaceful with the snow covering the ground in a thick layer.

There is a silent tension inside Hank, something that worries Connor and doesn’t let him relax. The man’s thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel as they get stuck at a red light and it feels as if he’s only becoming more and more restless.

“Hank,” Connor reaches out. “Are you all right?”

The man blinks, as if awoken from a daydream. He gives Connor a faint smile that fails to placate. “Yeah.”

“You seem nervous,” Connor presses, careful to keep his voice soft and not too pushy.

Hank sighs in relief as the light turns green and steps on the gas with a little more force than necessary. The car moves abruptly. “I’m tired. This traffic is kicking my ass. It’s fine.”

Connor’s mouth twitches. A poor excuse. “I’m sorry,” he offers despite that. “I should have taken a cab.”

“Nah,” Hank is quick to dismiss that idea. “It’s all right, Con.”

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, disturbed only by Hank’s occasional displays of annoyance. He keeps switching between the radio channels, only to find more love songs which just aggravate him further.

“Fuck it,” Hank groans eventually as he switches the radio off.

Connor smiles at that, despite his steady concern for the man. He knows that the three months he’s known Hank is not a very long time, but he’s learned a significant amount of things about him ever since they’d met. All the days he’s spent studying him, learning about him--sensing his discomfort has become simple.

"Got any plans for tomorrow?" Hank asks, breaking the silence.

“Work, as usual," Connor says, clasping his hands in his lap. "There's a game in the evening. We could watch it together if you'd like."

Hank clears his throat, his heart rate picking up. "You sure about that?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"It's just…" Hank trails off as they approach Connor's apartment block. He sweeps the area in front of the building in search of an empty parking spot. He sighs as he finds nothing. "I just thought that--maybe you wanted to spend it with someone else. I don't know."

Connor unfastens his seat belt. "Who else would I spend it with?"

Hank looks at him, disbelief clear in his eyes. He must be thinking the sentence is far from the truth, but it makes perfect sense to Connor. Hank isn’t the only person he could spend the day with. However, he sure is the only person on Connor’s mind.

“Right,” Hank murmurs after a while. He doesn’t look too convinced, and that alone is enough for Connor to feel a distinct hurt deep inside. 

Connor wishes there was a way to show Hank that he’s his favorite person to be around. That he’s not a second choice, not someone he turns to when no one else is available. That he would always choose him.

Hank stops the car in the alley, leaving the engine idle.

"Hank,” Connor says even though he knows it won’t change anything. “I do want to see you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hank is smiling now. A sad smile. “If you have anything else planned, it’s fine--”

“I don’t,” Connor cuts him off. “Can you please, as you always say, cut the bullshit already?”

That gets a laugh out of Hank, and it’s sincere and sweet this time. Connor’s favorite sound.

“Right. Sorry.”

The joy that comes right after making Hank laugh threatens to rip Connor’s heart in two.

“Thank you for the lift, Hank,” Connor gives him a warm smile. “I will see you tomorrow.”

"Connor. Wait.”

"Yes?"

Connor would be lying if he said he wasn’t shocked when Hank leaned over the console and pulled him into a fleeting embrace. It is certainly not something the man does every day, much to Connor’s silent disapproval. The android returns the affection, Hank’s pleasant warmth soothing him into comfort.

Hank’s hand then slides along Connor’s side, and at that very moment the android realizes the embrace was merely an excuse to slip something into his pocket. Connor’s brow furrows in confusion, but Hank pulls away and avoids meeting his eyes.

“Go on, scoot,” Hank murmurs. “My car’s blocking the way.”

There is so much Connor wants to question, but he chooses not to for the sake of the cars queueing behind them in the crowded alley. He gives Hank one more quick smile before he gets out of the vehicle.

Connor stands there for a longer moment, watching Hank’s car make a U-turn and drive away. He breathes in the crisp February air, trying to calm himself down. Snowflakes stuck in his hair refuse to melt. 

He turns around to face the building, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. He pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope.

Connor holds it in his hands, feeling a little dumbstruck. From the corner of his eye, he notices one of his neighbors passing him by and waving at him. Martha, 39, a kindergarten teacher. One of the few neighbors who don't despise Connor for what he is.

He gives her a careful, yet sincere smile and murmurs a hello. She glances at the envelope in his hands and gives him a quizzical look. Connor must look embarrassed enough, as Martha winks at him and leaves him be, disappearing from his sight.

Connor wastes no time to rush into the building, up the stairs to his apartment. The feeling coiling in his chest is something strange, something he's never felt before. All he can think about is finding some privacy so he can open the envelope.

His thirium pump is beating wildly in his chest as he fishes out the keys to his apartment and gets inside. Lock the door, switch on the lights--Connor does these things without thinking.

As he stands in the hallway in his coat and shoes, he opens the envelope.

Inside there is a piece of paper that’s a little less crumpled. Connor smoothes it with his fingers regardless, his eyes devouring the text written on it.

The handwriting belongs to Hank, of that Connor has no doubt. He could scan it to be one hundred percent sure, but he dismisses that thought. Connor knows he’d recognize the man's handwriting anywhere, even if Hank tried to make it look different.

And Hank did try. The letters look neater and more careful than usual. Connor tries to recall the last time he saw Hank put this much effort into his handwriting.

He fails to remember.

Connor clutches the paper in his hand, and it feels like the only thing in the world that matters to him at that moment.

_Connor,_

_I’d never have the guts to ask you in person, so I’m writing this instead. It’s pathetic, and I already regret it, but--if you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, would you go out with me? I know I’m not the most exciting company out there, and if you are already spending the day with someone else, it’s OK--just ignore this letter._  
_If you got nothing better to do, though, I found a nice place I think you’d like. The address is below._  
_Take care._

Connor is still frozen in the hallway, rereading the text several times, as if it were about to change or disappear from his sight at any moment. He breathes in and out, and then smiles, smiles broadly in a way he'd usually be embarrassed to. His LED dances between yellow and red as he touches each letter on the paper with reverence. He could not explain the feeling inside his chest even if he tried, or wanted to. 

In the quiet solitude of his apartment, Connor hugs the letter to his chest and closes his eyes. He thinks about Hank, Hank whom he treasures, Hank whom he suddenly cannot imagine his life without.

Connor spends several minutes analyzing the contents of the letter. It does include an address which he promptly looks up. It's a restaurant, and just a little bit of research unravels its appeal before the android’s eyes.

The place prides itself on being android-friendly, going as far as offering thirium-based treats and drinks. That, along with the sophisticated interior, thoroughly excites Connor.

9 PM is scribbled under the address, less neat than the rest of the text; Connor guesses Hank had forgotten to put it there until the very last moment. This is so like him, Connor thinks as he smiles to himself.

Connor puts the letter on the coffee table and starts pacing around, unable to stay put. He shucks off his coat and shoes, feeling restless energy pulse right through his body. He considers calling Hank to tell him how overjoyed he is--and overjoyed is an understatement.

In the end, Connor doesn’t call. He has a feeling it would embarrass Hank; there’s a reason he slid a letter into his pocket instead of talking to him, after all.

It takes a while for Connor to calm down the thudding of his thirium pump. He takes a quick shower, but as he changes into his lounging clothes, a brand new thing starts to occupy his mind.

Connor shuffles to his closet. A short moment of browsing through his clothes has him pouting in disapproval. It’s not that he doesn’t have anything suitable to wear. He just knows that his selection is scarce, and that Hank has probably seen all of it. The odds of surprising him with a new outfit are rather low.

Connor sighs, knowing he’ll have to make do with what he has. He picks up a few shirts, trying each one of them on and fussing over whether he should wear a tie or not. He decides to leave it out in the end, thinking it'd be a little too formal. 

Left with little choice, he settles on a lavender button-up shirt and skinny black pants. Connor watches himself in the mirror, thinking it’s a decent outfit, when his LED catches his attention. The android steps closer to his reflection.

The blinking light remains a reminder of what he is, or rather, of what he wishes he wasn't. 

Hank accepts him for who he is, of that Connor has no doubt--but it fails to alleviate his yearning to be human, to be the way Hank is. It feels like a pinprick, and the more Connor thinks about it, the more it seeps joy out of him. 

A notification popup in his HUD startles him but creates a much needed distraction all the same. Connor checks it right away, only to find out that it's Hank. Connor did not expect to hear from him tonight, knowing how stressed out and anxious he must be. 

The message consists of a picture of Sumo sleeping on his back. His paws are in the air and the tip of his tongue is sticking out of his mouth.

It makes a precious sight, but Connor decides to be petty. The picture is a little blurry and the angle could use some work. The android replies to him as he sinks back into his couch. 

He's adorable. Your photography skills, on the other hand…

Hank takes a while to respond, but Connor isn't bothered by the fact. He pulls a blanket over himself as he waits, thinking about why Hank had felt inclined to send that message.

Fear comes to mind first. Connor pictures Hank, alone in his house, afraid. Afraid he had ruined things between them with one careless letter. Hank, desperate for any kind of interaction, if only to make sure he hasn't lost him. 

It's a stretch, but Connor likes to believe he knows Hank well enough to be right.

Hank's reply comes through, and Connor realizes why it has taken him so long in the first place. The fact that the man had dug through the entire emoji panel just to find the middle finger one gets a laugh out of Connor.

It is followed by a good night, to which Connor responds with Good night, Hank. Connor knows the man’s heart must feel lighter thanks to this little exchange.

His own heart feels lighter, too.

\-----

Hank makes no mention of the letter the next day. Connor thinks he would feel better if he did, but he doesn’t push him. He can only imagine how afraid Hank is, if he prefers not to even ask Connor whether he'll be there. The fact that he’d rather wait at the restaurant for nothing than face outright rejection says so much about Hank, about his fragile heart.

And as always, Connor wishes to alleviate that pain. To comfort, to reassure Hank that he doesn't need to worry--but the day passes without an occasion to do so.

Connor doesn’t wait for Hank to offer him a lift after work. The car ride would be awkward, with both of them pretending they don’t know what’s going on. Besides, both of them need some time to prepare for the evening.

The ride home is full of anticipation. Connor sits in the backseat of the autonomous cab, his eyes glazing over the Valentine’s Day themed shop windows. None of them include androids in any way. 

Connor stares at his hands in his lap, the insecurity from last night coming back to haunt him. He has never discussed this topic with Hank before, nor did he hear him talk about it with anyone else. Connor knows he is capable of loving Hank, loving a human with all of his imperfections. He does not know if Hank is capable of loving him. 

The thought occupies his mind until the cab pulls over in front of his apartment. Connor sighs, getting out of the vehicle into the chilly evening. It’s stopped snowing for now, but the amount of snow covering the ground is thick enough for it to crunch under Connor's shoes. He enjoys the sensation.

Connor comes home, though saying that has always felt wrong. It has never felt like his home, not really. He finds himself standing in the hallway for half a minute, not sure what to do first. 

He has two hours and twelve minutes left until he's supposed to meet Hank at the restaurant. It's enough time--more than enough. The clothes he chose the day before lie prepared on his bed, and he fights the urge to put them on right away and get out, not wasting a single moment at his place. 

Connor sits down though, putting his legs on top of the coffee table. He used to find it unacceptable, but he changed his mind when he realized how good it feels.

He thinks about what Hank is doing at that moment, how nervous he must be. The source of that insecurity is a mystery to Connor. Hank is not a perfect being, not even close--but to Connor it could not matter less. The desire to be close to him, the longing to have his approval and affection--it has Connor’s heart in a tight, ruthless grip.

Connor breathes in and out as he turns on his small TV. He could stream it in his head, of course, but somehow this feels better, more real. Hank appreciates it too, whenever he comes over. 

He almost feels embarrassed when he realizes how much of his apartment is tailored for Hank's needs. The TV, the fridge filled with snacks and soda, dog treats, should he bring Sumo over.

Connor switches between TV channels, each blink changing the screen to something else. He settles on a light romantic comedy, something he considers fitting. 

He wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. He follows the movie to some extent, but it is not enough to drown out the loud thoughts from his mind. It is as if they’re stuck on a loop, an endless train of anxiety powering through him.

What if he had misinterpreted Hank's intentions, and this--this is just two people desperate not to feel lonely on a shitty holiday?

Connor watches as the movie's protagonist kisses the girl she's in love with for the first time. His thoughts remain loud.

\-----

Connor arrives at the restaurant at 8:40 PM. Anxiously early, as Hank likes to call it. He knows it's no use; Hank’s always running late, so Connor doesn't expect him to arrive at his date on time. If--if he can even call it that. 

Connor is not sure what to call it. 

He enters the restaurant and picks a table in the corner of the room. It soothes some of his anxiety, to be as hidden as possible. 

It doesn't prevent some of the customers from glancing his way, though, as he's painfully aware of his yellow LED. He shakes his leg, a nervous habit similar to Hank's. 

A waitress approaches him soon after. Her LED is a reassuring sight. 

"Hello. Can I get you something?" she asks, her voice uninterested.

"No--not yet, thank you," Connor tries to mask his anxiety with a smile. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Of course. I'll be around if you need me." 

8:50 PM. Connor looks out of the window. No sign of Hank's car in sight. He still has time. 

Connor occupies himself with watching people, as he usually does. The advertisement sure didn't lie about the place being android-friendly; Connor spots a significant amount of androids around. What makes him feel out of place is how there doesn't seem to be any couple consisting of a human and an android. 

Connor swallows. It could always be worse. 

9 PM passes him by. Connor's thirium pump picks up the pace in anticipation. 

There is still no sight of Hank at 9:15 PM. From the corner of his eye, Connor notices the waitress observing him, a sorry expression on her face. He fists his hands in his lap. Sympathy is not something he needs.

Connor sighs. He can't say he had not gone through this scenario a thousand times in his mind. He was afraid Hank would back out and bail on him. He was right.

What he's going to do is go home and pretend none of this has ever happened. And Hank is going to pretend that, too. They're not going to talk about it. It's going to hurt, probably more than anything else in his short life ever has--how close they were, and yet how far.

Connor gets up before he can change his mind. He maneuvers around the tables so that he doesn't have to speak to the waitress, unable to stand the pity in her eyes. He storms out the front door into the dark evening. 

The cold pinches his cheeks, reminding him of its presence. It's refreshing. Connor takes a few deep breaths, something that isn't supposed to be doing anything for him, but helps him nonetheless. 

He is certain he’s going to cry, but that will come later. He is not going to break down right there, in front of the whole city that glares at him and watches his every step. 

Not here, not now. 

He straightens himself, takes another deep breath. Looking into the distance, he sees a long line of cars parked by the street. One of them stands out from the others. 

Connor's thirium pump stutters as he adjusts his vision. Hank’s car. He did come. Connor can see the man’s posture in the vehicle--slouched in his seat. Considering. 

He does not think twice before he lets his feet carry him towards the car. Once Hank sees him, there is no turning back. 

He stops as he gets closer; Hank cannot see him from this angle. Connor takes one more breath before he circles around the car and knocks on the passenger's window. 

Hank jumps in his seat, his head shooting into Connor's direction. There’s both relief and panic in his expression as he looks up at him. He leans in and opens the door. Connor gets inside. 

They do not speak for a long moment. Connor glances at Hank; his silence is loud, louder than anything the man could say. Connor knows he blames himself. He doesn't have the heart to watch him like this. 

"Hank."

The man slowly raises his eyes from his hands, looking at Connor. The weight of his insecurities is clear in his expression.

"I'm sorry, Connor. I fucked up."

Connor shifts in his seat. They are so close to each other. "Stop. There is no need for that.”

Hank scoffs. "What kind of a guy invites his friend to a date and then bails on him?" 

Connor stumbles on the word date, his chest feeling tight. Despite everything, he’s thrilled to have learned about the man’s intentions.

"A date?" Connor asks before he can stop himself. His mouth twitches, but he hopes his voice sounded hopeful enough.

"Right," Hank rasps out. “Fucking ridiculous." He laughs, but it’s devoid of joy. "And you came, of course you did. You didn't wanna make me feel bad."

Connor's brow furrows. He does not appreciate being told how he supposedly feels, especially if the assumption is so far from the truth. 

"I came only because I wanted to," Connor says firmly. "But if you think this is ridiculous, then maybe I should have not come at all."

Hank is still avoiding his eyes, staring into the steering wheel. Connor shifts in his seat, as if about to get out of the car. 

The reaction is instant. 

Hank's hand shoots out to grasp Connor's arm, gentle, yet strong enough to stop him. The man's fingers wrap around the fabric of the android's coat, keeping him in place.

"Stay," Hank says, and his voice is so small and fragile, Connor couldn't possibly imagine saying no to him. “Please.”

\-----

The snow picks up, leaving the two in the car feeling like they're isolated from the rest of the world. Neither of them really care. 

"I'm so sorry," Hank starts again after a while. "I was gonna go in there," he motions in the direction of the restaurant. "I just…lost my nerve."

"Hank, if you don't want to go in there, it's alright with me."

Hank breathes out, then continues as if he had not heard Connor at all. "It's supposed to be really nice. I read some reviews written by androids--"

"Hank," Connor interrupts him. The research the man had done before picking the place is nothing but endearing, but it’s obvious that Hank feels bad about actually going in there. "You don't feel like going in there. Do you?" 

Hank clears his throat. "I…fuck, Connor, this isn't about me."

"Why wouldn't it be about you?" Connor asks, and something about it must hit a soft spot, because Hank just stares at him, unable to find the right words.

"I care about how you feel," Connor stresses. "If you don't want to go in there, we can go somewhere else."

Hank is silent for a while. He swallows, then nods and gives him a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

The relief in him is almost palpable, and it's a pleasant thing to see. He turns the key in the ignition and his car stutters for a moment before starting. Hank pulls out of the parking lot, even though they have not yet discussed where they're going.

"Where would you like to go?" Connor asks, a gentle prod he hopes Hank accepts. 

Hank sighs. "This really isn't about me, Con. I wanted to go somewhere nice with you. So that you could have a good time."

"I am having a good time," Connor gives him one of the smiles he knows Hank is powerless against. "I will continue to have a good time, as long as I am with you."

Hank does not respond, but the spike of his heartbeat is telling enough.

"We could go to my place," Connor offers. "Or--or yours. We were supposed to watch the game."

Hank frowns. "That's something we always do," he says, and the fact is a pleasant one. "I wanted today to be…" he cuts off, searching for the right word.

Connor watches him closely, paying attention to every detail of his face. Tired eyes, dry lips--none of that makes him any less beautiful.

"Special?" Connor offers after a moment.

"Yeah. Special."

Connor tries to find the right words to tell Hank that anything is special with his company, but before he can say anything, Hank's stomach makes a loud rumbling noise. 

Connor lets out a laugh before he can suppress it while Hank rubs his face in embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry," Connor says, in spite of the fact that he's still beaming. 

"It's okay," Hank says, and Connor can tell he’s smiling too. "My game is strong as usual."

"Haven't you eaten anything?" 

"No. I mean--we were supposed to eat at that place."

"That is true, " Connor admits. "Do you want to get something else instead?" 

Hank nods. "Yeah." 

Connor pulls up a map of their location in his HUD, then searches for places offering food. A small bar selling vegan burgers piques his interest. He interfaces with Hank's GPS to enter the location of the bar. 

Hank watches him with curiosity. "Whatcha doing?" 

"I decided where we're going." Connor says with a little smile, and he leaves it at that.

Hank looks at him with slight disbelief, then laughs. His smile is full of fondness as he starts following the directions on his GPS, and he doesn’t question Connor’s decision even once.

\-----

The parking lot in front of the burger place is questionably small, and it's filled with cars. Hank grumbles under his breath as soon as he finds out what kind of a place Connor has taken him to.

“Fancy assholes,” he mutters.

Connor assumes he’s talking about the people who dared to occupy the parking lot, but he does enjoy being petty. “Are you talking about me?”

“Yeah, I’m talking about you.” Hank shoves him in a playful manner. “You’re the fanciest asshole out there.”

In the end, Hank parks his car farther than he would have liked to. He's about to get out of the car when Connor stops him. 

"Wait," he says. "You wait here."

Hank scoffs at the reminder of all the times he's told Connor that. "Come on. I’m not too senile to walk."

"The place is far too small and crowded during this hour for us to find a seat. I'm going to order takeout, and then we can go somewhere else." Connor explains in the formal tone he uses mostly at work, or to mock Hank. "So…"

"So…?" 

"So you wait here." Connor gives him one more smile and he gets out of the car. 

\-----

Nobody pays much attention to Connor at the burger place, thankfully. He's decided that he definitely prefers his presence to be ignored.

He's standing on the side, eyeing the menu leaflet in his hand. It was supposed to be easy, picking something healthy yet appealing to Hank; it turns out to be anything but. Connor sighs a little, tapping his foot against the tile floor.

"Can I help you?" 

Connor is asked that for the second time during this evening, but he honestly has no idea how to answer. He wishes he could ask for his heart to feel lighter, for his feelings to be easier to confess.

"Yes," Connor says instead. “Thank you. I am not sure what to choose. Your menu is so vast."

He smiles at the waiter, feeling relieved he can get someone's advice, even if it's a complete stranger. Connor refuses the urge to scan the man for his personal details; instead, he looks at his name tag. Kyle. 

"Isn't it?" Kyle smiles back at him. "Well, I need the preferences of the person you're ordering for--it's not for yourself, is it?" 

Connor blinks. It stings a little, even though the way the man had said it was polite.

"Sorry," the waiter offers. 

"That's all right." Connor clasps his hands. "It's not for me, no. It's for my date."

It's so pleasant to hear these words leave his mouth.

Kyle nods. "Well, please tell me what they like." 

Connor's eyes trail off a little. He smiles fondly as he thinks of Hank. "To be fair, he's not big on healthy food. Or vegan anything."

That gets a chuckle out of Kyle and he nods, as if he has heard that a million times before. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I get it. My boyfriend's the same, you know. A real pain in the ass." 

The waiter then suggests a few options to Connor, tells him which burgers are their customers’ favorites. It's easy to listen to him, and it creates a pleasant distraction from Connor's anxiety. 

Connor decides on one commonly picked and appreciated by meat lovers, accompanied by sweet potato fries and a vegan cola. He smiles at Kyle and thanks him for his help, and as he's left alone with his thoughts again, the unpleasant anxiety begins to crawl back to him. 

Connor sits down at a table in the corner, quickly occupying his restless hands with a salt shaker. He spins it on top of the table, careful not to spill any of its contents. His thirium pump picks up as he notices he's being watched by some of the other customers. 

He takes a deep breath and shifts his thoughts to something--someone else. Connor pulls out his phone out of his pocket, unwilling to have more people side eye him for what would seem like talking to himself.

He calls Hank, because it's the only thing that comes to his mind that would soothe his anxiety. He also calls him because he misses him, but that is a little more difficult to admit. 

"Hey. You're still there?"

"What, you thought I'd bail on you again?" Hank's tone is a little nervous, but lighthearted all the same.

"No, of course not." Connor spins the salt shaker with his left hand as he clutches the phone with his right. "Just checking."

"You're taking forever."

"Yeah, well, quality food takes time." Connor smiles to himself, a little cheeky, and Hank isn't there to see it but he sure picks it up anyway. "This isn't Chicken Feed."

"Are you implying something?" 

"I wouldn't dare."

"Right," Hank says, and Connor can tell he's smiling too. "I just hope it'll at least be edible."

"I assure you it will be."

"Says the one who has not eaten a single thing in his life."

Connor chuckles. "Cheek up. I'll be back soon." 

"It's chin up, you idiot." 

Hank's laughter is so fond it leaves a pleasant warmth in Connor's chest. "Right. Well…I'll see you soon."

Connor ends the call and takes a deep breath. He taps his fingers on top of the table, hoping it isn't too long until the food is ready.

The same waiter approaches him soon, placing a paper bag on Connor's table. "All done."

Connor gets up, clutching the bag with his fingers, and he offers a smile in return. "Thank you."

"Have a great evening," the waiter says. "Your date is lucky."

Any attempt at response gets stuck in Connor's throat, so he doesn't get to say anything. Instead, he gives him a sheepish smile. 

Connor makes sure to file the restaurant under places he would return to as he walks out into the cold evening air. It feels a little ridiculous at the time--he doesn't even know how this evening will go, he doesn't even know if Hank will ever want to do it again--but it's alright.

As long as Hank is in his life, as long as he's his partner and friend--Connor can't imagine asking for more than that. 

Snow crumples under Connor's shoes as he slowly makes his way back to Hank's car. He stops when he spots a drugstore nearby. He thinks on it for a few seconds, one side of him tugging him forward and the other suggesting he gives up on the thought. 

Connor doesn't give up on it. He knows what he's looking for when he enters the store, so it doesn't take him long to buy it and get out. 

\-----

Connor finds Hank leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, gazing into the distance. His face is lit up by the street lamps, and Connor gets a little lost watching the snowflakes stuck in his silver hair. He's beautiful like this, Connor thinks as he slows down his pace just to be able to admire him a little while longer. 

"Aren't you cold?" 

"Hey." Hank turns to face Connor, rubbing his hands together. "A little."

Connor smiles, overwhelmed by a wave of affection towards the man. "Get inside." 

The car smells like junk food and coffee, but it mostly smells like Hank, and it's warm and pleasant. Connor adjusts his position so that he's comfortable, and then he shifts his head to the left, giving Hank an expectant look.

Hank shifts in his seat and clears his throat. "Right. Where are we headed now?" 

Connor scoffs. It's the question he had expected, and even though he doesn't feel disappointed, he wants to play along and tug on the strings of Hank's confidence. 

"You're asking me? Mind you, I thought I was the one getting asked out on a date."

He doesn't know what comes over him, but the surprise painted all over Hank's face is more than worth it. 

"Right. I'm sorry." Hank sighs, running his hand through his hair. "Wish I was better at this."

Connor feels emboldened to reach out to him with his hand, a gentle brush of his fingers against Hank's arm, so he does. Hank's eyes follow the movement of Connor's hand, and then move to his eyes. 

"You know I don't like it when you put yourself down," Connor says, and in a moment of particular boldness he reaches out and pushes Hank's unruly hair off his face.

This one gesture has Hank paralysed, his heart beating so fast it'd have Connor worried under any other circumstances. This time, though, he relishes in Hank’s awkward silence, allowing his fingers to brush the man’s cheek before pulling off.

And as Hank looks into his eyes, there is so much fear in them, but there is also gratitude, something Hank would never say out loud. Silent thanks to Connor for taking the first step and guiding the two of them forward.

"Hank," Connor says softly. "We can just go to my place. I don't mind."

"No--I mean, I don't wanna make Sumo be alone for too long."

"Oh. Right." 

"My place, then, for the umpteenth time?" Hank smiles, and again, it's a sad kind of smile, highlighting his tired eyes and the lack of self-confidence.

"It's where I wanted to go the most," Connor gives him a reassuring smile that Hank apparently misinterprets. 

"Oh, you wanted to go home with me, all right." Hank laughs, and it's quiet but so genuine.

Connor's brow furrows. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing--it’s nothing."

Hank reaches out to ruffle Connor's hair for a second before he pulls away and turns the key in the ignition. The affection is enough to make Connor’s thirium pump stutter.

They pull out of the parking lot, and the car starts trudging through the snow, protesting only through occasional noises. Connor relaxes in his seat; Hank’s presence puts him at ease more than anything else.

“So…” Hank starts eventually, bringing Connor’s attention back to himself. “You knew it was me.”

“It was…you?”

“The letter, I mean. You knew it was from me.”

Connor smiles at that, light and genuine. “Of course.”

“Right.”

“You do realize I can scan people’s handwriting, don’t you?”

Hank laughs, a little awkward. “Yeah. Right.”

Connor sees the opportunity to make Hank’s heart flutter, and he seizes it without hesitation. “I didn't do it, though. I’d know your handwriting anywhere.”

“Oh.”

The word leaves Hank's mouth with such hardship as if he had little air left in his lungs. It amuses Connor to no end, the way Hank is easily flustered. He watches him, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

"You're going to kill me one day," Hank says, his voice quiet and resigned in a way that suggests he’s more than fine with that.

"On the contrary, I'm doing my best to keep you as healthy as possible so that you can live a long life."

“So that you can torture me longer,” Hank laughs, and the sound makes Connor smile as well.

“Something like that.”

\-----

Sumo is drawn to the food bag in Connor’s hands as soon as the two walk into the house. He sniffs it with curiosity, his tail moving at a fast pace.

Connor places the bag on the coffee table and sinks to his knees to greet the dog, but Sumo outright ignores him and goes straight for the food, trying to open the bag with his big nose. 

Hank exclaims in disapproval as he snatches the bag away from the dog. He takes one glance at Connor and starts laughing; Connor supposes his disappointment in Sumo must be obvious.

"Sorry," Hank says. "You should know by now that nothing else matters to him when he sees food."

"I know that.” Connor pouts as he gets back to his feet. “He’s just like his owner."

Connor doesn’t see it coming when Hank walks up to him and pulls him into his arms, but he wouldn't dream of complaining. It's a warm, gentle embrace that makes Connor go a little weak in his knees. 

"Figured it's my job to give you a hug, since my dog didn't bother," Hank says as an awkward way to justify himself. 

"How nice of you," Connor murmurs with his face pressed against the man's chest. "I think he's trying to steal your food again."

Connor immediately regrets saying it, as Hank lets go of him and dashes towards the dog. The embrace becomes just a memory, but its warmth is still palpable, and Connor clings to it as much as he can. He does not know when he will get to feel Hank's closeness again.

\-----

The game is on, though the volume is but a soothing murmur in the distance. Sumo huffs every now and then, his heavy head resting on Connor's lap.

And as Connor sits there watching Hank examine his surprise meal and scratching the dog behind his ear, he knows that there's nowhere he'd rather be than right there, with those two. 

Hank whistles as he gets his hands on the burger. "Ooh. This even looks edible."

Connor gives him a deadpan look. "Who do you think I am?" 

"A person without taste buds, for starters."

Connor smacks the man's arm, causing him to snicker.

"I hate this green stuff," Hank groans, pointing his finger at the arugula sticking out from the burger. 

"I'll try not to be offended," Connor sighs. "It's arugula, and it's good for you."

"Doesn't mean it tastes good, though."

"Your judgment is subjective," Connor speaks in a formal tone in order to tease. "I think the prolonged exposure to Chicken Feed may have killed what was left of your taste buds."

"Hey, I told you to lay off Chicken Feed," Hank points an accusatory finger in Connor’s direction, but he still can’t resist the urge to smile.

Connor grasps Hank's finger and makes him lower his hand. An excuse to touch him as good as any. "Stop being a baby, if you could, Lieutenant."

Surprisingly, Hank doesn't have a comeback for this. He bites into the burger instead, and his expression turns out to be a mixture of satisfaction and surprise.

Connor's LED spins yellow as he watches Hank eat, then silently admire the sweet potato fries with more awe than necessary. He tries to say something, but no words seem fitting, nothing that'd allow him to express himself.

He sinks his hand into the dog’s fur, massaging his neck in soft, slow strokes. It soothes him.

"So…" Connor says after a while. "How is it?" 

"Good," Hank admits as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I mean, I did expect it to be horrible."

"Right."

"Yeah." Hank laughs at the deadpan look Connor has given him. "But it's good. Especially the fries."

"You're not lying?"

"Of course not.”

"But you'd rather have Chicken Feed.”

They look at each other for a longer moment, and it feels a lot like a staring contest. In the end, Hank is the one to break eye contact as he starts laughing. Connor couldn’t have possibly been more right, and they both know that.

"I got one more thing for you," Connor says as soon as their amusement passes. He figured he'd have to say it sooner or later. 

"Oh?"

Connor gets up and goes for his coat, slipping his hand into one of the pockets. When he comes back, Hank is eyeing him with curiosity. 

"It's not much, but…" Connor cuts off, suddenly aware of how awkward this feels. He doesn't say anything more. 

"Hey." Hank makes Connor look into his eyes. "No putting yourself down. The rule applies to you, too.”

Connor gives him a grateful smile. He slides back onto the couch, close to Hank but not close enough for their knees to touch. 

He’s hesitant, but he reaches for Hank’s hand, maintaining eye contact. Connor opens the man’s hand and slides the gift into his palm, then closes it around it.

Connor can feel Hank’s pulse as he slides his fingers along his wrist, a brief touch he is bold enough for. Hank watches him throughout it all, and it’s clear that he hasn’t missed a thing.

Hank opens his palm, his brow furrowing slightly. He spins the object in his fingers, analysing it with curiosity. 

It’s chapstick, much to his amusement.

"Orange and vanilla," Hank reads off the label, squinting slightly.

"Where are your reading glasses?" 

"Somewhere," Hank murmurs in a dismissive tone, still eyeing the chapstick. "Sounds fancy. Is it your sophisticated way of telling me my lips are gross?" 

Hank's tone is light, but Connor despises that suggestion. He doesn’t ever want Hank to think he finds him unappealing.

"No, of course not. They're just a little dry, and I thought--" 

"Hey, relax," Hank raises his hand in a reassuring way. "Just fucking with you."

"Okay." 

Hank opens the chapstick and gives it an experimental sniff. "Smells so nice," he says. "You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" 

Connor blinks, taken aback by the sudden term of endearment. It’s not something he’d expect, and certainly not something Hank has called him before.

"I--I am?" Connor stutters, a sincere question he can't resist. 

"Yeah."

The silence that follows is more than telling. One look at Hank and Connor knows he’s worried he has overstepped. Connor acts quickly to prevent him from overthinking.

"Here," Connor says as he takes the chapstick away from Hank. "May I?" 

The man looks at him for a moment, as if unsure of his intentions. He agrees despite that. "Yeah. Of course."

Connor tries to calm the slight trembling of his hand as he leans towards Hank, pressing the chapstick against his lips and carefully applying it.

"So focused, maybe you'd make a better makeup artist than a cop," Hank tries to tease, although his voice is just as shaky as Connor's hand. 

"Don't speak," Connor orders in a stern tone.

“You’re the boss.”

A smooth layer of the lip balm soon coats Hank's lips, turning them softer, much like the man's heart. Connor backs away when he's done, hardly able to take his eyes off of him. For a moment, he imagines tracing his fingers along the surface of those lips, and it takes a lot of his strong will not to give in to the temptation. 

"Admiring your handiwork?" Hank asks as he presses his lips together, causing the balm to spread out more evenly.

Connor gives him a small smile, knowing that there is no joy in this world that compares to what he feels next to Hank; there is nothing that could even come close. And as he watches him stick a sweet potato fry in his mouth with so much care as not to ruin the smooth surface on his lips, Connor knows he would not trade that evening for anything.

"Oh, fuck," Hank groans in disapproval, his attention suddenly drawn to the game.

Connor's eyes flicker to the TV screen. The basketball team Hank is rooting for appears to be losing. One of the players can be seen arguing with the referee, his face red with anger. 

The deep focus on Hank's face is beyond endearing, but it sparks an ember of envy deep inside Connor. He realizes he yearns for Hank's undivided attention, even though he's been allowed plenty of it this evening. 

Connor shifts in his seat, blocking the TV from Hank's sight. The man clicks his tongue and gives him an amused look, but makes no attempt to move him out of the way.

"Connor."

"Yes?" 

"Don't tell me you're jealous of the goddamn TV." 

Connor is working hard on suppressing a smile. "I may be."

“It’s all right,” Hank says as he pats Connor on his shoulder. “That old bastard was advanced back in its day, but now? It couldn’t compete with you in any way.”

“I should be offended by this comparison.”

Hank lets out a breathy laugh. “It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Well, it was a pretty poor compliment.”

“I have more for you--plenty of them, actually.” Hank says, and it’s endearing how embarrassed he seems by his sincere outburst.

“Are they going to be just as bad?”

"I--I can't promise anything." 

Connor doesn't really know what comes over him when he reaches for Hank's hand and laces their fingers together. It’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time, and Hank’s smile hasn’t made it any easier to fight that urge.

Hank glances down at their hands, then back at Connor. Their faces are so close to one another, Connor wishes to test Hank’s new chapstick and check how soft it really made his lips.

There’s so much he wants to do, so much he still wants to say, but he decides he isn’t going to push any harder than that. He knows Hank; he knows him and the thick walls he’s surrounded himself with, he knows how fragile his heart is. 

Connor knows himself, too. His insecurities are still there no matter how hard he’s tried to push past them this evening. He can feel his bold exterior slowly crumbling. Maybe he went too far and too fast.

He’s afraid.

Connor’s about to back off and give Hank some space, but the man wraps his free hand around the android’s waist and pulls him closer. It’s the exact kind of comfort Connor has yearned for, and he imagines Hank has needed it for even longer. Connor presses his head against Hank’s chest, stealing his warmth.

All of Connor’s biocompents stutter as Hank brushes his lips against his LED, making it blink rapidly. He thinks he might be dreaming, but it feels real enough to believe, and he sure hopes it is real. It helps him feel less afraid, reassures him that Hank feels for him just as strongly.

His LED thrums against Hank’s lips, a sound similar to a cat purring. It gets a quiet chuckle out of Hank, and it’s so full of fondness Connor almost chokes up.

Hank is worth everything. The wait, the internal conflicts, uncertainty--all of it is something he can endure, if it means finding shelter in the man’s arms at the end of the day. Connor knows he would wait--he will wait for as long as it takes for them both to heal their wounds, and learn how to be loved. He knows they will continue to be there for each other, he knows they will get through everything together.

But for now, this is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lonesomeramen).


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